Mending a Broken Soul
by bobmcbobbob1
Summary: 8 months after Christine left Erik in the catacombs of the Opera House, troubling nightmares haunt her and her husband. They return to the old building and find that Erik is not so...well, dead...as the managers believed. RC to get it out of my system
1. Dreams:News

**The Usual:** Yeah, definitely don't own these characters but I rather enjoy manipulateing them in my own mind.

**Stuff to know:** Alright, this is set post ALW movie (because when I started writing this I hadn't finished reading the book yet.) Christine and Raoul are married (and sorry, he's going to stick around so no E/C, though I must admit to be a fan of said pairing). The entire precept was to "fix" Erik; that may sound crude but you know what I mean. I'm really hoping that this won't be a complete recap of other post-story fics.

Also, title is subject to change as I like it less and less each time I look at it. Any suggestions would be appreciated. :)

In addition, on this side of the internet I have the story broken into three sections (or so I have it planned now): Dreams, Reuninons, and For the Love of a Child.

I use italics for dreams, thoughts, and emphasis, I hope you don't get too confused. (I'm just against bold for some reason, though I will likely use it anyway next chapter, grrr. )

Alrighty... first chapter.

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Mending a Broken Soul

_**-Dreams-**_

_"Go now! Go now and leave me!"_

_The Phantom, now a broken man, pleaded for Christine and the Vicomte to flee his dungeon of solitude. His light, the aura of Christine, was gone and there was nothing left to do but wait for the mob to find and destroy him in his darkness. Turning to the monkey in Persian robes, a friend that had never deserted him, he sang wistfully along with the tune: "Masquerade. Paper faces on parade, Masquerade. Hide your face so the world will never find you…"_

_Christine walked cautiously toward the distorted creature and he whispered his proclaimed love one last time. Handing him the ring, she gave one last affectionate and pitying look before turning and leaving with Raoul reprising their affections. Christine glanced back again, regretful despite all the troubles the Phantom, her Angel of Music all the same, had brought to her life. _

_Distraught, the Phantom wept bitter tears as his only companion walked out of his life, she who cared in spite of fear. He proclaimed to the dank room, "You alone could make my song take flight. It's over now, the music of the night." He sat on the throne in the dark dungeon lit by flickering candles, his kingdom of music and his life. The loud chorus of the mob grew louder but he still had time to let his emotions run free in peace. One hand covered the scarred visage and hid his tears from the empty pit. The jabbering grew louder and the Phantom grew resolved. Refusing to show evidence of his pain, he replaced the mask that had haunted all those who dared tempt the Phantom's wrath. The group slowly entered the eerie chamber, their torches blazing brightly. _

_"Ghost, he claimed, but a man, nay, a monster is all. We've come to bring justice for your crimes." The leader of the mob advanced. _

_In a quiet and menacing tone, the Phantom dared them to come forward. "Keep your hand at the level of your eye, sir; you would not wish to further my wrath after you've invaded my domain."_

_Involuntarily, the man's arms shot up and the torch he had waved threateningly moments before dropped and hissed in the murky ooze that coated the floor. While their attention focused momentarily on the dead torch, the Phantom, desperate to leave his home and all painful memories behind, tapped a switch and he disappeared in a bright flash of flame. Most lost their resolve and ran, screaming about the devil's workings. Those who dared remain met with unfortunate fates, such was the clever ability of the Phantom, with traps strung with wires and spikes. The rest that survived thought it best not to disturb the Phantom's cursed place and hastily left. _

_Meg, young and curious, took the mask― the mask that had once set a barrier between man and monster― that lay on the small table. The Phantom saw this all from his hidden chamber, above the crypt but below the next floor. Distracted by grief, he eventually left his hiding place and stumbled about to survey his theater one last time. Scorch marks colored the once elaborate and intricate workings of the Opera Populaire. Refusing to spend much thought on the destruction before him, he resumed his cognitive path of Christine. "Why?" he asked her, and she could not reply, nor look upon his face. But the crowd had seen his face and the screams still echoed in his ears, as did the rest of the shrieks that plagued his past. _

_He was unaware of the man behind him until the noose slipped quickly around his neck. _

_"I've got him, the Phantom of the Opera." The Phantom was soon bound and fought and snarled only half-heartedly, no longer fearful of death. _

_They tortured the man, spat on his face, battered his frame until he collapsed to the floor, taunting him all the while. When the noose was loosened just enough for him to speak, he cried out with one precious breath, "Christine, why?" He had offered this woman everything he could and she cast him aside, taking the handsome Vicomte and scorning all the gifts he had given her. Such was the pattern in his life, such it always was; genius held no sway and his ghastliness assured none would give his pain another thought._

_The men continued to loom above him and laugh at his feeble attempts to escape. "Your little pupil is gone, off with her lover. Why should she stay with a demon? Ha, you're going back to where you belong, in the dark." _

_They flung the Phantom into a box and held the lid, blocking off air and light. With what strength was left, the enraged Phantom pushed the lid and threw his assailants off the cover. While one of those men lay on the floor disoriented, he drew the sword from the man's belt. The cuts on his body and the bruises only added to the menacing nature before his attackers. "…To those who would tango with Don Juan," he threatened his assailants with lines from his own ill-fated opera. The group leapt upon him then. Managing to render some damage, he fought back, forcing the mob toward the end of the stage. _

_Suddenly, the bared teeth of the Phantom opened in surprise and a gasp escaped from his throat. Looking down he saw the glint of steel stained with his own blood emitting from his chest. He sank to his knees, losing blood and consciousness. His eyes pleaded as he searched and looked up on his killer… he saw the face of an angel, she who had already destroyed his heart…_

Christine woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed and breathing heavily. Mumbling groggily, her husband spoke up beside her, "Dearest, what is the matter?"

"I dreamt I saw him."

Raoul needed no clarification; the Phantom had been eradicated from their lives for over eight months but the memories would never die for either of them, what they had witnessed was not easily forgotten.

"Christine, Christine, my own Little Lotte. Have you now forgotten? The Phantom is gone, no more to haunt us, his body dead and buried." Christine thought back on the letter they had received from the former owners of the Opera Populaire after the accident; the men claimed that they had identified the corpse of the renowned Opera Ghost and that his reign was finished. The memory resurfaced latent tears on the forlorn genius's fate; the man had done many horrid things but the outcome didn't seem just, he had never been taught any love, kindness, affection, or any better way of behaving but instead only to survive, ruthless and detached. The dark spirits of the world had taught him then punished him for the very sins society had instilled since birth.

Raoul noted his wife's distress and decided not to push the subject any further; he simply consoled her tears by holding her close and whispering reassurance in her ears. Relaxing again, she sank against his form and soon fell into another fitful slumber.

He looked on her sleeping frame and smiled contentedly before returning to troubled cogitation. Christine had not slept well for the past month and he was growing increasingly worried. The nightmares were at first only a small part of the problem but even those were becoming more frequent and more vivid. Considering sending for a physician early in the morning, Raoul drew his wife close and shut his own eyes.

* * *

Christine protested Raoul's decision the next morning but the dark patterns under her eyes and the stifled yawns left Raoul resolved and Christine grudgingly consented. While one of the servants set out for the local physician, Christine fought to stay awake, nodding in and out of consciousness. Dr. François came promptly to the Vicomte's call and saw to the Vicomtesse in the privacy of her bedroom. 

He emerged some time later, packing away his equipment as he walked. Raoul tentatively asked, "Monsieur, what is it?"

"Your wife is in perfect health, sir. Actually she's very well indeed."

"What do you mean?"

"But of course, Monsieur, your Lady is with child."

"With child?" Raoul plopped down on the small couch behind him as his knees gave way.

"Yes, Monsieur, might I be the first to congratulate you."

"Yes…yes, thank you," Raoul murmured, still waiting for the shock to wear off.

The wizened man smiled knowingly. "If her insomnia persists, I suggest a change of scenery. Have your servant come to me directly if she has any other problems." He assisted Raoul back to his feet, Raoul followed mechanically. "I suggest you go see your wife, sir."

"Yes…Yes!" The Vicomte slowly emerged from his stupor and joy bloomed on his face. "Drive safely, my good sir. Thank you again." Raoul vigorously shook Dr. François's hand before his trusty servant Philippe brought the doctor's coach around. He dashed to the master chambers as quickly as dignity would allow before anxiously forgetting even that in his haste to be with his beloved.

Smiling broadly as he entered the room, he went to his wife's side. "Christine! I―" He stopped mid-sentence. Sighing, he curbed his enthusiasm to a small bemused smile, pleased and content with his world, while Christine slept peacefully in the dark room. With his spirits bubbling warmly in his chest, he sat down in the chair beside the wide bed and caressed his wife's hand. "Ah, my dear Christine," he whispered, "I truly am the most grateful man in the world. What more could I ask for?" Eyes sparkling with admiration, he rose and gently kissed his wife's forehead. "May the Angel of Music grant you rest, my dear." He closed the door softly.

* * *

Please let me know what you think! (Yes, by the way, Erik will come into the picture after a chapter or two, like I could leave him out. Sheesh). 

Planning to update relatively soon (especially as the next chapter is half-way edited). But I'll probably focus more on other story "Playing Hooky" as I...well...I like how it's come out better.

Take care everyone.


	2. Dreams:To Paris

**The Usual:** Yeah, definitely don't own these characters but I rather enjoy manipulating them in my own mind.

**A/N**: In this chapter (and another one coming up, once I've cleaned it up a bit), I used some Shakespearean Sonnets (in Bold) since I wasn't inspired to write my own lyrics for Erik to sing; I was stuck on the idea of using them and at that point I was certain I wouldn't be able to come up with much better. Sonnets are hard to write! Yes, they're used without permission but I'm not getting any money from this and yadda bladda. (the numbers are cited at the bottom)

Shakespeare, gotta love him.

Hope you like it...

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**So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse**

**And found such fair assistance in my verse**

**As every alien pen hath got my use**

**And under thee their poesy disperse.**

**Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing**

**And heavy ignorance aloft to fly**

**Have added feathers to the learned's wing**

**And given grace a double majesty.**

**Yet be most proud of that which I compile,**

**Whose influence is thine and born of thee:**

**In others' works thou dost but mend the style,**

**And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;**

**But thou art all my art and dost advance**

**As high as learning my rude ignorance.1**

_The lyrics echoed in the dank room while candles flickered in the dark. The ominous tone of the organ rang out from the silence that normally smothered the old opera house. Pounding on the keys in a perfunctory manner, he restrained furious tears. _

**Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,**

**That having such a scope to show her pride,**

**The argument all bare is of more worth**

**Than when it hath my added praise beside!**

**O, blame me not, if I no more can write!**

**Look in your glass, and there appears a face**

**That over-goes my blunt invention quite,**

**Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.**

**Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,**

**To mar the subject that before was well?**

**For to no other pass my verses tend**

**Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;**

**And more, much more, than in my verse can sit**

**Your own glass shows you when you look in it.2**

_How the words paralleled his tortured mind and memories. He remembered the mirror, seeing her face on so many blessed occasions. He called the song "Muse." The tune was sad, forlorn, and the words were from a book of sonnets he'd found in the managers' old office and hadn't the heart to alter in any way for fear of marring their beauty or structure. Readying himself for his favorite and truest verse, the Phantom bade his voice not to crack as he recalled the sheer emotion of the words. He belted the song in a strong, powerful, and heavenly tone; well, he thought to himself, as "heavenly" as a ghoul could be. _

**Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,**

**And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:**

**The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;**

**My bonds in thee are all determinate.**

**For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?**

**And for that riches where is my deserving?**

**The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,**

**And so my patent back again is swerving.**

**Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,**

**Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;**

**So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,**

**Comes home again, on better judgment making.**

**Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,**

**In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.3**

_The clamoring on the stone steps was only audible after the final chords, intermixed with the Phantom's sobs, ceased their reverberations. The tears rolled silently from his eyes as he began to remove evidence of his visit. Replacing his mask, he pushed a mirror aside to escape once again. _

_But someone was already waiting on the other side. The pistol barrel lodged against his spine as a jeering voice threatened him. "You've grown careless, Monsieur le Fantôme. Keep walking or we'll see if you're truly immortal." _

_Resigned, the Phantom marched forward with all the dignity a prisoner could muster. The mob greeted him with assorted shouts and menacing glares. He thought bitterly back to the circus where leering eyes followed his every move. Another harsh memory broke into his mind when the sticks began to beat his body. A gunshot rang out in the night and the Phantom stilled, searching for his killer… only to find _him_, the thief of his muse._

Christine abruptly returned to the waking world, streaked with sweat. Reorienting herself with the room, she pushed her hair away from her face and felt blindly for the end of the bed. She rose with the assistance of the bedpost and headed towards a nearby basin for a splash of cool water. It was not yet dusk so she adjusted her appearance in the mirror before setting out in search of her husband.

Raoul looked up from his accounts when he heard the doors open. "Christine, awake at last! How are you feeling, my dear?" He rose from his chair to embrace his wife. "Are you hungry? Can I get you something? Anything?"

"No, Raoul, I'm fine. Have you already spoken with the doctor then?"

"Yes, and I couldn't be happier." Kissing his wife gently, he led her to the sitting room and brought whatever he could to make her comfortable. She blushed prettily on his fawning treatment but said nothing against it, indulging him and enjoying the attention all the while.

"Oh, Raoul. What do you think? A handsome boy that looks just like his father?"

"Or a beautiful angel that's the image of her mother?"

The couple mused on the couch on subjects ranging from names to nursery furniture until Philippe informed his master and mistress that dinner was served. Raoul leapt off the couch, eager to assist his wife to her feet. "I'm fine, Raoul. The doctor said I wouldn't start showing for another month or so and I'm quite capable of standing up on my own, dear." Christine only protested half-heartedly, beaming at her husband. He escorted her into the dining room and gallantly pulled her chair back before taking his own seat. The staff proudly set the meal before them (Raoul had already informed the chef of Christine's new specified diet, given by the doctor's orders through a post earlier that afternoon).

Christine was not herself; she became quiet, lost in thought, and distant. He had heard that mood swings could be expected in a woman in Christine's state but he thought it best to ask. "Dearest, is anything the matter?"

"I had another nightmare, Raoul."

"Another?"

"Yes and I realized something. I never even knew his name, Raoul. He'd taken me to his lair, taught me under the guise of an angel, and I never knew his name." Unshed tears from grief and fatigue welled up in her eyes. "I'm so tired, Raoul. Forgive me, I must retire." She set her silverware down and rose from her chair. Before Raoul could rise from his own seat, she had crossed the room and kissed him sweetly. He glanced at her half-empty plate and set his own napkin down on the table before following her.

Christine had scarcely taken off her shoes when Raoul walked through the doorway. "You should eat, Christine."

"I have no appetite."

"Dr. François suggested that if your dreams continued to bother you, we should find a change in scenery."

"That would be lovely, Raoul," she murmured amidst yawns.

"Would you like to go to the cottage by the shore? Or to the château in the woods?" He spouted off several options but she merely snuggled deeper into the pillows, fast on her way to sleep.

Christine had another dream that night, vivid and horrid as were the predecessors, this time the police were merciless and the crowd mocked his sorrow. Before she laid back to fall asleep again, she spoke a few words to her groggy husband: "Raoul, I'd like to go back to town."

He started, unsure of how to respond. Finding his words, he spoke, "Lotte, do you really want to go back to that? Surely the nightmares will only grow worse if we're closer to…"

"No, Raoul. I wish to see the Opera Populaire again. I-I need the closure, maybe that is what's been haunting me. Please?"

Raoul could never deny his wife anything and consented. Relaxed, she moved closer to him before quickly returning to quiet rest. Her husband lie thinking; surely the opera house held no more real hazards now that the Ghost was dead. Christine turned in her sleep; he would do whatever it would take to eradicate these nightmares.

* * *

The air was laden with moisture during the morning the Vicomte and his Vicomtesse left their estate. The staff had seen to an efficient packing and loading and soon Raoul led his wife to the coach. She spent most of the ride in a fitful slumber and had one bout of nausea before they stopped at a small inn for lunch. After an uneventful meal, the couple resumed course and arrived at a pleasant inn by sundown. The innkeeper showed his esteemed guests to the best rooms and pointed out every luxury, including a spectacular view of the famous opera house from the north window.

Christine looked out on the shape, the masterfully crafted building already showing signs of decay. She was no longer the naïve Christine Daaé but the Vicomtesse de Chagny and resolved to show no trepidation on entering the Opera Populaire.

Weary from a long day of travel, she asked Raoul to send for an early supper lest she drown in the soup. Laughing, Raoul complied willingly and set about surveying the apartment for himself.

Christine sat down heavily on the couch, meditating on her latest dream. All accounts agreed that the Phantom was dead but she could not find it in herself to accept. The man, for he was human after all, had taught her to sing with all her soul and was her only true companion for a difficult part of her childhood after the loss of her father. Nor could she accept that his heart was as black as the general public claimed; she'd seen and known that good was in his soul, though covered with bitterness and contempt of society, the world that had only condemned him and made compassion merely a dream.

She woke up later to the gentle coaxing of her husband. The doctor had told her that her fatigue was likely due to her pregnancy but she wished that she could sleep during the night as opposed to nodding off during the day. _But,_ she reminded herself_, your dreams don't allow you any rest regardless of time_. Raoul brought a tray to Christine and encouraged her to eat.

Shaking her head she complied and ate. The rest of the night was uneventful; the couple settled in while reminiscing of the past and dreaming of the future in turn. Christine grew frustrated as her yawns interrupted her words and Raoul smiled understandingly as he suggested that they turn in early.

* * *

1 A sonnet by Shakespeare, LXXVIII.

2 Another sonnet by Shakespeare, CIII.

3 LXXXVII, all sonnets were used without permission, no infringement intended.

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I'm going to end this chunk by stating the following: "if you like what you see, I'm more prone to update when I know it's being read. i.e. Review!" (:begs quietly: please? I actually have the next section mostly ready.)

Thanks for reading, regardless. Much love, all :)


	3. Dreams:Late Night Escapade

A thousand thank yous to those who have reviewed so far, you absolutely make my day. (personal responses at the bottom)

Alright, I know I said I'd update soon but then I got caught up in scholarship essays and stuff. I ended up sending one of my original fics into L. Ron Hubbard's Future Writers of America (or something like that) contest so I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some college money.

Okay, enough excuses. I'm pretty sure this is going to be the last section of Dreams but I still have two more chunkys I'm planning on posting so we're not done yet. There's a bit of recapitualtion at one point (not too bad), please bear with me (apologies to those who know it by heart, I put it anyway).

Whoever you are, thanks for reading and I hope you like it!

Another dream (and yes I know Buquet is dead so don't get caught on that; it is a dream after all)

_

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_

_The dark alleys echoed unseen footsteps and whispers of unseen men. Water plopped rhythmically into various puddles on the broken cobblestone streets. The alleys were all identical to the unfamiliar eye as the shadows tainted everything in shades of blue and black. The new gaslights didn't reach the lurking creatures of the alleys and the corner of a swishing cloak or the squirming rats was the only evidence of life. But he could feel the eyes that followed him. _

_Joseph Buquet replaced the hood over his face. He breathed heavily and he searched the dark worriedly as his fear welled up in his chest. He stopped walking and the haunting footsteps rang closer and closer. More frantic, Joseph increased his speed, eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuer. Soon he lost all pretenses of nonchalance and bolted as fast as his feet would allow. _

_When he could run no more, he sank against the dank wall and slid to the ground. Struggling to regain his breath and stay as quiet as possible, he strained his ears: nothing but a faint trickling of water and his harsh breathing. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he leaned his head back against the wall. An ominous pair of black gloves emerged out of the shadows above the man. In one quick move, a noose was around Joseph's neck. The body kicked feebly before falling limp and the rest of his attacker emerged from the shadows. The mask that covered his scars was cracked and yellowed and his normally pressed clothes were grubby and ill-kempt. His hair was mussed, his face unshaven, and what skin showed was unwashed. He'd stopped caring for his appearance some time ago. _

_He bared his teeth in a demonic leer toward the corpse; he didn't care any longer. Lifting his head to the sky, he let out a pained howl too mournful to describe. _

_Revenge could not balm his injured soul. _

Christine's eyes snapped open. She inhaled sharply as the cry of the Phantom continued to echo in her ears. Rising slowly so as not to wake her husband, she moved out of bed and drew her robe about her. She shivered, not solely from the chill of the night. Christine mentally chastised herself; she knew Joseph Buquet was already killed by the Opera Ghost and that the killer himself was gone but she couldn't pull the images out of her mind's eye. Her dreams were so vivid; she could have been standing mere footsteps away from the terrible deed. She could still hear the Phantom's heart-wrenching and unearthly bellow. She shivered again and glanced back to Raoul's sleeping form.

She stared out the window at the ominous Opera Populaire. Christine was thrown from her reverie as she saw a light move in the window in the southwest corner of the opera house. She knew that room well; Christine had often visited that room to light a candle for her departed father. She again glanced at her husband; he was still asleep. The street was empty and well lit, if dark and eerie. A few drunkards sang loudly and off-key in garbled voices as they wobbled down the street and one lone man played a soulful violin on a street corner. As she could not sleep anyway, Christine glanced one last time at her husband before pulling a cloak over herself and gently shutting the door behind her.

Christine only intended a short stroll along the street but found herself drawn to the theater of her past. Glancing around to make sure she wasn't followed, she pulled the hood closer around her face. Cupping her hand to the soot-stained window, she glanced inside. The light of a candle flickered in the dark room, casting tall shadows along the wall, but no one was in the room. Moving toward the frame of the window, she pressed gently, testing the old hinges. The rusted hinges groaned and she cringed at the sound, afraid to draw attention, but soon it crept open enough to let her slide through.

The room escaped much of the disastrous fire that had ruined the rest of the once architectural wonder and looked much as it had that fateful night before she went to perform the Phantom's opera. Raoul sought to comfort her but nothing could spare her from the fear of that night. She felt another flash of guilt, remembering the hurt in the Phantom's eyes when she'd revealed his ghastliness to a sold-out audience. Christine wasn't entirely sure why she had done that, such a cruel betrayal, and she was unable to answer when he'd asked her later.

That night ended with a vicious choice. The man, nearly given up on hope as he was, began to see reason and the abhorrent nature of his actions until Raoul's attempt to free her sent him again into a jealous rage. Was it fair that his scarred face deny him any happiness when Raoul with his handsome features had the world handed to him? In his fury, the Phantom forced Raoul into a perilous position and demanded that Christine choose: should she spare her lover and live the rest of her days with him or refuse and send Raoul to his doom? There was no way to win. Regardless of what happened, someone would die, with guilt and regret or a shattered heart.

In the back of his mind the Phantom knew that it wasn't right; Christine would choose him but not for the reasons of love that he wished. Was he to lose the only one he cared for? Was he to lose the only one who had shown him any affection? He was resolved, blinded by wishes, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope born of desperation. If there was even a small chance that Christine could care for him as deeply as he did her, he was willing to do anything to make it possible.

But she surprised him; he would forever remember that kiss. Overwhelmed, he wept, understanding the full weight of what he was doing to her, what pain he was causing her. The Phantom bitterly demanded that they leave and forget the terrible ordeal. She remembered the last time she'd seen his face, glimmering streaks on his cheeks and the pain in his eyes. She was leaving on the small boat with Raoul and she had looked back again. Christine could never forget the words he spoke after that and they repeated in her dreams, "You alone could make my song take flight. It's over now, the music of the night." Then he sank down and lowered his head into his arms.

She winced again at the memory. It seemed impossible that so much pain could be in one soul. Christine moved toward the small altar of candles and automatically reached to her father's picture. Her father's candle was already lit, as well as M. Giry's and a couple unlabeled candles. Despite the almost entire abandonment of the opera house, a new photo for Piangi held its own candle and although unlit showed evidence of honor. One stubby candle sat on the edge of the frame, unlit and unused. Taking the central candle, she lit the unused candle, sending off a prayer for the soul of the Phantom, doubting that few else would take time to concern themselves on his behalf.

After praying for the lost souls, she rose from her kneeling position. The door on the opposite side of the room creaked slowly open. Catching her breath and backing against the wall, she watched the door continue to groan on its old hinges. The door had opened wide, but no one was there. Christine stealthily moved toward the door, careful that her soft shoes made as little sound as possible.

The hallway was empty but the distant memory of music reached her ears. She looked up the stairs, recalling how once the lively traffic of dancers and singers held joy in the hustle and bustle of working on a new production. The tune was unfamiliar and she soon realized that it was more than a mere memory. Some distant melody filtered through the silence. Making her way down the stairs, she saw light.

Freezing in her steps, she repeated aloud to herself that the Phantom was gone and she had no reason to fear.

But the light was moving closer.

Fear rising in her chest, she moved back to the room, shutting the door quickly. A sliver of light grew under the door. Footsteps gently resounded in the dank corridor, closer and closer. Sinking against the wall, Christine continued to repeat to herself that it was merely her imagination but her harsh whispers in the dark did little to lessen her anxiety.

The footsteps stopped. The only sound Christine could hear was her own heart beating furiously as she held her breath. The door swung open and she turned away.

"Christine?"

She glanced up at the light voice. Her blond hair was pinned back but she recognized her immediately. "Meg?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. Oh, but none of that now." She rose and embraced her friend. "How have you been?"

"Maman and I have been auditioning at other venues for jobs, but we return here every night to see what can be done to preserve this poor old building and to light a candle for those lost. Christine, it is good to see you again. And how is your husband?"

"Raoul and I are doing rather well." Christine bit her tongue, debating on whether or not to tell Meg about her pregnancy but she decided against it, not until she and Raoul had discussed a few things. "We've come to town on a visit."

"But out so late?"

"I saw your light and snuck out."

Meg scoffed but smiled, reminiscing fondly. "You must meet with Maman and me tomorrow. For lunch?"

"That would be lovely." Christine and Meg set a time and place, eager to meet again. Christine left through the open window and walked quickly back to the hotel. Raoul woke up upon her return and mumbled incoherently. Christine shushed him before returning to sleep herself, blessedly free of nightmares.

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**A/N**: Sorry, it was only Meg. Maybe you were expecting someone else? (:cheeky grin:) 

Alrighty...next chapter should be up...well...hopefully soon. (I've been re-writing a couple parts and I think I'm making some parts sound WAY too dramatic.)

**Nota Lone**: I hope I can stay original and not be a complete recap. Yeah, I know Christine knew Erik's name in the book but I went from the movie and I'll address that later (when Erik can tell her himself -:wink, hint, nudge:-) Thank you!

**Kim-Gordon**: Glad you like the happy couple. Thank you!

**Clayphan16**: Thank you!

**MagickAlianne**: I'd definitely place myself as an E/C all the way but this is after the movie and unfortunately life doesn't always get that perfect ending. The whole point of this fic is to try to find happiness anyway. :) I hope you like it anyway and I hope you can come back to fanfiction soon. :( thank you!

**TheAngelofMusic**: Of course Erik isn't dead! I could write him captured, I could write miserable but what's _the Phantom of the Opera_ without him? Sorry though, not in this chapter... if you hang around, he'll turn up. I promise (unless I die or something, j/k). Glad you're enjoying it! Thank you!

**letthedreamdescend**: I hope it keeps your interest. Thank you!

Again thank you to anyone who is gracious enough to review (if you like what you see, I'm more liable to update -:wink, hint:-)

What's to come: brief lunch with the Giry's, then back to the opera house and...actually I'm not going to tell you anymore :P.Bye all.


	4. Reunions:The Giry'sAnother Late Night Es...

This is the first part of the second chunk (if that makes sense).

Ah yes, I keep forgetting the usual disclaimer thingy. Me>student, meaning I have a small bit of knowledge and no money. Don't own the Phantom orthe original story or lyrics (although I don't think I've used them...), I just like to manipulate them for a non-profit bit of fun. I write because I have a story I want to tell and this one just happens to be based off an excellent piece.

Thank you to the reviewers: LostSchizophrenic love the name! thank you!

twinlady, stick around for the next chapter (hopefully I'll work it to my satisfaction relatively quickly) I promise we'll have **that** reunion soon. :) Thank you!

Nota lone, was this wind-y enough? You know how the wind is, sometimes it breaks trees down and sometimes your kite sits in a lifeless clump on the ground... :) thank you!

Another addition to the story, here we go... _

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_

**_-Reunions-_**

The sun shone brightly the next morning and the once foreboding streets of Paris glinted with life. Raoul moved about the room, getting dressed and sorting through various things. Christine opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the sun's rays and their reflection on the clean linen.

Upon seeing his wife was awake, Raoul cheerfully greeted her: "Christine, how did you sleep, my dear?"

She smiled, wondering if it were possible to tell her husband about her escapade without earning a rebuke. "I had another dream last night then I went for a walk."

"In the middle of the night? In these streets?" Raoul was incredulous, partly for his own ignorance. He smiled disapprovingly but took a teasing tone, "Christine, the city is not safe for the most beautiful angel to walk alone."

"Oh, Raoul, I was in no danger."

"But all the same, what if―"

"I met with Meg. She's invited us to lunch." Christine drew the conversation away from chiding to the happier result of her late night intrigue. Raoul switched his mood quickly, although resolved that his wife should not sneak about town again, and was delighted to meet with Mme Giry and her daughter.

After a lazy morning, the couple set out to meet the Girys. Mme Giry remained as formidable as ever and Meg had acquired some quiet to her demeanor, given the traumatic events of the Opera Populaire, though she was truly excited to see her friend again. It was a polite meal but distanced; none dared to speak about le Fantôme, though his spirit haunted all their thoughts. _If anyone knew for sure whether the Phantom had died, it would be Mme Giry_, Christine thought, though she had no way to bring the subject to the surface. After they rose from their chairs, Meg dragged Raoul off in one direction, leaving Mme Giry and Christine alone for a few precious moments.

"Madame Giry, I have to ask you. Is the Phantom truly dead?"

Mme Giry looked at Christine with doleful eyes. "My dear Christine, I have yet to see him since that day."

Christine sighed as the unregistered hope disintegrated; shouldn't she be happy that the Phantom had finally been granted peace?

"Christine, are you coming?" Raoul realized that his wife lagged behind. Mme Giry and Christine quickened their pace and caught up with Raoul and Meg. "My dear, we have not told them our good news."

Meg piped up excitedly, "Oh, what news?"

Christine sheepishly returned Raoul's beaming smile as he spoke up on behalf of his wife, "We're going to have a baby." Meg gushed with joy while her mother only smiled and nodded approvingly. Christine blushed prettily while answering all of Meg's questions but soon grew fatigued. Raoul, perceptive of his wife's sentiments, bade the Girys farewell and the couple returned to the inn.

Christine napped peacefully for an hour or so while Raoul sent Philippe out for a physician in case of an emergency. Finding nothing else to do, Raoul picked up a book and read. When Christine awoke, he inquired if she'd like to go out that evening to see an opera. L'Opera Extraordinaire had taken on La Carlotta after the disaster―some companies saw La Carlotta as a curse; she had moved from one to the next with either some accident following soon after or else the opera managers refused to tolerate her egotistical manners―and Raoul soon sent for tickets that had luckily not sold out.

The show was mediocre but loyal fans of La Carlotta did not fail to give her a standing ovation. Raoul and Christine bantered back and forth about the performance on their way to the inn before retiring for the night. Raoul kissed his wife before snuggling into the covers himself, holding her close.

Christine slowly drifted toward consciousness while the sky was still dark. She was confused, curious as to why she had been pulled out of a peaceful sleep that had eluded her for the past couple months. Understanding an instant later, she suddenly sat up, feeling ill, and reached for the nearby chamber pot. After emptying the contents of her stomach, she felt a damp cloth on her forehead as her husband continued to delicately pull her hair away from her face. She smiled weakly up at Raoul's concerned expression. After she had cleaned off, Christine settled back down into her pillow and fell asleep again.

Some time later, Christine awoke, this time from another dream. She had seen the Phantom, burning in the smoldering heat of the Opera house, and fought urgently to purge the images from her mind. Raoul still slept soundly and she again rose to glance outside the window. The dark street mirrored the scene from the previous night excluding the drunkards. Christine smiled secretly to herself before pulling a cloak about her shoulders and heading out the door. There was something she had to do.

Cautiously, she again drew the window aside and entered the small room. Only one candle was lit tonight, the squat, dumpy candle without a picture. As she'd done in the past, she lit a candle for her father and prayed for his soul.

"Dearest Father, I have such news to tell you. Raoul and I―" She stopped short, disturbed by a strange sound in the hallway. She saw a light fade from the sliver in the door. She called out uncertainly, "Meg? Madame Giry?" No answer. With only small trepidation, Christine walked toward the door and opened it as the last flicker of light disappeared down the stairwell. "Meg?" She called out lightly and followed after the light. When she continued to receive no response, Christine began to grow worried.

The light continued to move down the stairs before it abruptly disappeared. "Meg? This isn't funny… Hello?" Ignoring her better judgment, she continued down the stairs.

She wandered around blindly, groping along the wall. Abruptly, the floor dropped out from under her and she plunged into a dank pit. Christine fell to the stone, her body complaining from the hard landing. Looking up from her fall, she still couldn't see how far she'd fallen. The room was dark and she searched for an exit, growing more and more frantic. Near hysterics, her hand met with a wooden surface, a door. She let out a cry of relief that echoed in the dark depths. After locating the handle, she yanked with all her might but the door budged less than an inch. She pulled again, feeling the gritty rust from the handle coat her hands. She asked herself again why she'd left her warm bed; Raoul would be very right to disapprove now. After what seemed an eternity, the door swung open and she fell back to the floor. Nursing her bruises, Christine cautiously crept out of the room.

A faint strain of music saturated the air but she took little notice of it as thankfully she saw a glimmer of light down the corridor. Christine stopped, trying to decide what she ought to do. It was unlikely that anyone would find her before morning so she decided that she must find her own way out. Determined, Christine marched down the passage then the stairs that followed. Her path illuminated more with each step, the light giving her courage. The music grew louder.

After what seemed an endless amount of stairs, her path opened up into a room. A familiar room. A room littered with candles and bits of music, a room where normal human laws didn't hold to fact, a room she had remembered in her nightmares… Christine had wandered into the Phantom's domain.

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**Endnotes:** Yes, that wasn't a very nice place to leave off at all, was it? ;) I hope you enjoyed it. I'll get the next part up as soon as I can but I'm not sure when that will be; I just got this new idea that I'm really excited about and I'd like to post part of it soon (I have to glean through it before I post it). It's yet another Phantom story (post movie/musical) but I'm trying to take a different angle and throw in some different things. 

ANYWAY... tell me what you think of this one. (small voice) please? (I'll update as soon as I can, promise)


	5. Reunions:Erik OG's Lair

Yay! Guess who **finally** shows up in this part? Sorry I took forever and a day to get here.

**The usual**: Don't own Phantom of the Opera, I just like to manipulate the characters. Also, hold no claims to the two Shakespearan sonnets used herein; I was drawing a blank on song lyrics and you can't improve on Shakespeare anyway.

And a thousand thank you's to people who take the time to review. (specifically for this one, Twinlady and LostSchizophrenic; you guys rock)

* * *

She was shocked that she had wandered into this room of all places. Furthermore, the room had recently been used or rather was in use. The music, once faint, sang strong as the figure pounded the keys in a perfunctory manner. Christine's fear dissolved and she grew angry. _Who is this that dares defile his lair? Have they not punished him enough? Must they continue to mock him? _

She began to stealthily move toward the caped invader. Then the man tilted his head back and sang.

**_When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,_**

**_And place my merit in the eye of scorn,_**

**_Upon thy side against myself I'll fight,_**

**_And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn._**

**_With mine own weakness being best acquainted,_**

**_Upon thy part I can set down a story_**

**_Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,_**

**_That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:_**

**_And I by this will be a gainer too;_**

**_For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,_**

**_The injuries that to myself I do,_**

**_Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me._**

**_Such is my love, to thee I so belong,_**

**_That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.1_**

Christine froze. It simply was not possible. No other man had that voice. That melodious and heavenly, yet pained, voice only belonged to one being.

_**Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,**_

_**And I will comment upon that offence;**_

_**Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,**_

_**Against thy reasons making no defence.**_

_**Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,**_

_**To set a form upon desired change,**_

_**As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,**_

_**I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,**_

_**Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue**_

_**Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,**_

_**Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong**_

_**And haply of our old acquaintance tell.**_

_**For thee against myself I'll vow debate,**_

_**For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.2**_

After the last notes of the song died out, he whispered aloud, "Even if it is I that thou dost hate." The man lowered his head and met it with his hand, covering his eyes. His shoulders shook with emotion. Christine hadn't dared step forward but she was moved by his suffering. She took a few steps cautiously toward the man and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

The man's head jerked up and he whipped around to face her. Christine backed off slightly at the abrupt response. The Phantom, for it could be no other, stared through a veil of tears. The mask he'd left off and to the side but Christine did not flinch; she'd seen his face enough in her dreams.

After they stared at each other for a moment, the Phantom broke his gaze, "No. Not another apparition. Be gone. Leave me in peace." He begged quietly, the tears unceasing, and refused to look again at Christine, shielding his eyes with his arm.

Tears began to well up in Christine's eyes. "I am no ghost."

He brought his arm down. "But you have to be. Why would an angel return to such darkness? She is married, I heard the old managers discussing it. Christine will never return. She is gone. Now I ask, nay I beg, you to leave. Torment me no longer. Be gone spirit of wretched despair. Flee ghost of defeated dreams and ill-fated hopes. Stop your torture."

Burning tears spilled down Christine's face. She believed once that she had seen the Phantom broken beyond repair, but he was the epitome of all that was sad, all that was wretched, and all that was shattered. She spoke in a quiet voice, trembling all the while, "I never meant to hurt you. What has become of you?" He finally stared again into her eyes.

"What has become of me? Did not the entire world hear the crack of my shattering heart that echoed across space and time?" He took in a shuddering breath and glanced at her tears sympathetically. "Angels should not cry, at least not for demons. I cannot take these apparitions. Please, leave." He turned his head away, glossy tears still coruscated on his scars and healthy skin.

Christine could bear it no longer; she threw her arms around him. The Phantom was momentarily shocked but soon both he and Christine sobbed into the other's shoulder, she for his pitiable state and he for the comfort he'd never had before, none had ever been willing to approach him in any such manner save one. Several minutes later, both had run out of tears to shed.

"But it cannot be her." Hope glimmered in the Phantom's dark eyes.

"They swore you were dead."

The first hint of a smile graced the Phantom's lips. "It's easy to hide when no one looks for you. It was a stage hand who perished in the fire; a few pieces of evidence from my chambers and those fools believed it, anything to end the nightmare." His grin faded slightly. "Is it truly you, Christine? Have you returned to me?"

Christine was unsure how to answer him, the joy slowly dimmed in her countenance as she took on a serious tone. "Raoul and I are married, I could never leave him."

The light in his eyes vanished replaced by dark, empty stone. "Then leave. It was a mistake to hope again."

"I see no reason to leave now."

"But―"

"I love Raoul, he is my husband and I love him."

"So―"

"But you were my teacher, my friend, and although I love Raoul, it does not mean that I no longer care for you." Christine felt like she was teaching a child about sharing, some basic concepts in socialization that he had likely never understood. He remained quiet for a few moments, as if absorbing the new thought. A second chance. She hugged him again and he awkwardly brought his arms around her petite frame.

She pulled back, wiping the unshed tears from her eyes and scrubbing gently against the salt on her cheeks. "There is something I wanted to ask you."

The Phantom did not immediately reply, still wary of her presence, afraid to wake up and find it all another cruel delusion, but he nodded slightly.

"What is your name?"

The Phantom was taken aback once more. He so seldom required his name―acquiring titles wherever he went that struck fear into the hearts of many was a different matter―and few in his memory had asked him before. "Erik. My name is Erik. I have no memory of a last name." There was a sweet bliss in saying his name, to be normal in some aspect.

"Erik, then." The name felt foreign on her tongue but she took a liking to it, grateful to replace the awkwardness of "le Fantôme". Christine smiled warmly, feeling that she had just broken through the first of the complex layers of the Phantom of the Opera. Anything to help her mentor live and create again.

Christine and Erik sat on the cold stone in silence, finding no words to say. The sound of sloshing water interrupted their shared reverie and soon Raoul jogged rapidly through the shallow water near the shores of the Phantom's kingdom, shouting all the while: "You!" His face portrayed shock and fury simultaneously. "You led her down her. You monster, you shall never have her!" With his last words, he lunged toward Erik, who was already poised to attack.

"Did you learn nothing from your last visit? No, you will not take her again!" The men grappled at each other's throats, knocking over assorted papers and other objects, sculptures, and instruments. No man held the upper hand longer than a moment. Christine screamed, appealing to both men. Neither complied and the battle raged… until Christine fainted dead away to the cold stone floor.

"Christine!" Their war forgotten, both men dropped their hands and raced to her fallen form. They virtually snarled at each other, each blaming his opponent for what had happened and trying to jut the other out of the way while they tended to her.

Raoul held her head in his lap and Erik saw to laying her out straight. Anger still coursing through his veins, Raoul demanded, "Go, fetch a doctor. Make yourself useful."

The Phantom looked coldly at Raoul, "I am a doctor." Raoul looked skeptically at the distorted face. "Do as I say. Place her head on a pillow but raise her feet. Now!" Raoul reluctantly complied with the order. Erik, pulled up an eyelid and checked for a reaction before placing two fingers on Christine's wrist and counting beats. "Her pulse is returning to normal. She will awaken soon," he announced.

"I still say we should send for a doctor."

"Monsieur, I assure you―"

Raoul cut in to the Phantom's angered reply, "She's with child."

Erik could not stop his eyes from expanding before he turned his head away coldly, as though bruised by the remark. "I see."

Both men were rescued from further comment when Christine sucked in a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered.

"Christine, don't move," Erik gently commanded her. Turning to Raoul, he ordered more harshly, "Fetch a glass and some water from that chest over there." Raoul scowled but did as he was told. He glanced back after a few steps and saw the Phantom lift up his wife from the stone. "What are you doing?"

With daggers shooting from his eyes, he replied curtly, "What does it look like? I'm moving her. The floor is cold and she ought to be comfortable."

Huffing anew, Raoul roughly seized a chipped glass and went towards the chest. He opened it quickly but was surprised; the air inside the chest was cool and the skeins of water were ice cold. In wonderment, he asked, "What is this?"

The Phantom glanced over his shoulder, "Oh, the cold-box. It's just an invention I've been working on." Raoul looked back to the box and quickly filled the glass.

He followed the Phantom's path and looked disapprovingly on where he'd laid Christine. "Is there nowhere else?"

"A man needs only one bed, Monsieur," Erik snapped back. "It's more important that she is comfortable, n'est-ce pas?" He glared at the Vicomte, as if daring him to complain further.

Raoul felt it wise not to say anything else and thrust the glass out to him. The Phantom took the glass and held it to Christine, giving strict instructions that she was not to drink too fast and only in small sips for the time being. She smiled gratefully at Erik and his anger melted as he returned it.

Christine found her voice: "Raoul, Erik, you seem to bring out the worst in each other."

Erik chuckled half-heartedly before brushing his lips to her hand and replying: "Christine, you bring out all that is good in me."

Raoul felt a stab of jealousy and he glared once again at the Phantom. Abruptly, Erik stood up and moved towards the door. "Where are you going?" Raoul demanded. Erik did not reply; he merely swung his cape over his shoulders and picked up the mask that sat near the organ. "Monsieur! Ghost! Phantom!" _What was the name Christine said?_ "Erik!"

He turned around slowly, a queer look in his eyes. "Yes?"

Raoul was a bit at a loss, trying to contrive what to say now that he had the Phantom's, Erik's, attention. "Where are you going?" he repeated.

The look in the Phantom's eyes, somewhere between confusion and surprise, was replaced with confidence. "To gather supplies, nothing more. Stay with her."

"Supplies? Stay?"

"Well, yes," Erik spoke as if the matter ought to be obvious. "Christine should not be moved, not now anyway. Furthermore, it is nearly daylight and not only will it be hazardous for _me_ to be seen in daylight but it would also be advantageous for you not to be seen exiting the hideout of the renowned Phantom of the Opera, presumed dead or not. It is best that I go and gather food. I daresay I'm not stocked for visitors."

"I swear to you, if this is one of your plots to keep her here, I'll―"

"You'll what, sir?" Erik cut in sharply, insulted. "I assure you for your wife's health, for Christine's health, you will do as I say." He sighed, angry yet wishing the other man to understand. "It may be beyond _your_ reaching, but you must trust me." Erik did not see it likely and the distaste on Raoul's face confirmed it. "I thought as much."

Erik whipped around, cape swishing gracefully, and vanished into darkness. Raoul turned away, still disliking the situation; he admitted to himself he was unsure of the best way to get Christine out of the Phantom's clutches but should there be some shred of truth to what the man had said, he dared not risk it. Instead, he returned to the Phantom's bedchamber and to his wife's side. "Don't worry, Christine. I'll get you out of here, away from that monster."

Christine grimaced at the end of his sentence. "Raoul, you shouldn't say such things. He is a man, not a monster." Raoul was taken aback and guilt quickly replaced the jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He didn't respond, but instead averted his eyes to the floor. "He has been called a monster for much of his life, Raoul. Please, remember that. Each wretched name marks another scar. There is good in him, Raoul, though it may be buried by layers of rejection and suffering. His gift to the world is his genius; his curse is the world and all its hatred. For my sake, please try not to provoke him."

Raoul felt ashamed and foolish as he saw the truth in his wife's words. He swore he would do his best. Christine took another swallow of water, before shivering and pulling the covers about herself; it had been a long and exciting evening and she was ready to sleep.

Raoul contented himself with watching her rest, recalling how he'd reacted when he woke to find her gone. He had checked the bathroom briefly, though knowing she wasn't there, before dashing to the window; sure enough, her cloaked form was moving away from the inn and she had already snuck inside the window on the first floor of the Opera Populaire. Throwing some clothes and his boots on, he chased after her. In his mind, he made an excuse that the building could no longer be structurally sound and was therefore unsafe but in his deep conscience he knew that he feared some resonance of the Phantom remained in the old building; only in his wildest imagination had he fathomed that the being himself would lurk once more in the dark catacombs.

It had been an agonizing process, searching with only a stubby candle burrowed from the altar in the vast and dark opera house. He shouted her name a few times but mostly listened. What he eventually heard disturbed him; the organ and its haunting notes filled the air accompanied by a strong, male voice. The tune was new but the singer was what stopped him in his tracks, a page from his memory. _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…"_ Surely it was he, for it could be no other; that voice that had taken Piangi's place that night, a voice that was forever ingrained in his mind. _"Monsieur, I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm her? Why should I make her pay for the sins which are yours!"_ That voice was still ingrained from the night where the Phantom attempted to take Christine and nearly won.

Once Raoul heard the voice, he redoubled his efforts, growing more frantic. He prayed that the song would continue and it lead him down hallways and stairs as he strained his ears, seeking the source. After marching down more steps in seriatim, he fell into an unseen hole. Then Raoul followed voices and found not only his wife but the possessor of the voice. Raoul looked again at his sleeping wife, much relieved to be beside her again. _I thought it was all over. Will it just begin again?_ He was worried.

1 LXXXVIII, again, Shakespeare. You gotta love him.

2 LXXXIX, Shakespeare again.

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Alrighty, I really, _really_ hope Erik didn't come off as too melodramatic; I fought with that for some time. He thinks she's another apparition and no one's there to hear him... yeah that's not much of an excuse I know. 

**What's to come:** Spending the day with Erik and what comes of it (yes,veryhorrid summery but I'm only half awake at this point, my apologies)

Love it or hate it, please let me know!


	6. Reunions:Resurfacing

_Today's my Birthday, (I'm officially 18!) so I thought I'd share some of my happy and update all my stories! _

_Hope you enjoy it! (And hugs to all those who have reviewed!)_

_bobmcbobbob1(4/25/05)_

Hmm... I'm really not sure if I stay in Erik's character here, it was kinda difficult...

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Raoul woke sometime later, lying on his back. He jerked to attention and the blanket slid from his chest as he sat up. Where he had been sitting, the Phantom had taken his place. "Rest, monsieur. It is not yet seven." Erik didn't say anything else and only turned back to Christine. Raoul felt the bile rise in his throat but recalled his promise and curbed his distaste; the Phantom was doing no _harm_ in merely looking at her. 

"What about you?"

Erik's mouth quirked slightly, "You don't have to pretend to concern yourself with me."

Raoul, surprised and slightly insulted, still had to admit some of the truth in what he said. Though wanting to clear his intentions, Raoul didn't have the slightest inclination of how. He pulled the blanket off and stood up from the pallet Erik had set for him. "How is she?"

"She's resting." The small music box beside the bed slowed and he reached over to wind it again; the monkey in Persian robes clinked his cymbals in time with the beat.

Raoul sighed; he decided that he may as well make some effort in conversation, especially as they were forced to spend the day in each other's company. "Christine has spoken of that music box. She recalled it fondly." The Phantom made an indeterminate sound but no other reply. Raoul sighed again, still searching for something more to say some way to bridge the gap.

Erik stood up and moved past Raoul disliking the idea of polite conversation with an adversary. He sat down in front of the great barrel organ, shuffled some papers, and began to play. Every so often, he'd stop and mark a few chords. For the first time, Raoul noticed that the Phantom had exchanged clothes; his rumpled clothes had been changed for an elegantly simple white linen shirt with a clean-cut indigo vest and crisp black pants. His coat, no longer caked with mud and grime but classy and neat, sat next to him on the piano bench. What showed of his scraggly face was shaved and his black hair was again slicked back. Raoul felt the shame of his own appearance, rumpled clothes and disheveled hair was not proper for the Vicomte de Chagny.

As punctilious as Erik was on his appearance, he was even more so with his work. The voluble chords flew from one magical harmony to the next and he played unceasingly for what seemed an hour before he sighed and set down his pen.

"What are you working on?"

Erik had nearly forgotten Raoul's and the voice surprised him but he caught himself quickly to reply in an indurate tone: "Another opera."

It was all he apparently cared to divulge but Raoul plowed on anyway: "What's it about?"

After a moment's hesitation, he spoke, "Joy, love, sorrow. And death, it is an opera after all." He paused a moment before adding, "It was in memory of Christine, though I never thought she would hear any of it."

Silence reigned again. Raoul closed his eyes and docked his pride before beginning what he'd never attempted before: for the sake of Christine, he offered an olive branch to a madman. "She spoke of you." Erik stopped writing and stiffened, waiting for Raoul to continue. "Christine felt really guilty about leaving, despite all your insane tendencies. We both know her caring nature. She's had nightmares for the past two months… She's-she's shared some of them with me. I won't deny that I was jealous but that did not make her any less right; you've been through hell and I shouldn't treat you like a…a―"

"A bete noire? A monster? A demon? It would make you no different than all the rest, monsieur."

"It's easier for people to persecute others when they see them as less than human. But Christine was right, she was right. I couldn't understand at first why she was so upset when that letter came, when the directors wrote to say they'd found your body. She cried and I asked her why she was so upset, the nightmare was over. She took some consolation knowing that you no longer suffered but she sobbed into my shoulder that night. I never really understood." Raoul hushed again, searching for the right words. "But I might now. You've done horrible things, but what the world has done to you I cannot possibly comprehend." Christine had been listening for most of the discussion and decided to let the men speak in peace, praying fervently that they would find it within themselves to resolve the mistrust that lay palpably between them. "That night you made her choose, you were dying, scratching for life and pleading for air, your body was alive but you felt as if your soul were dying."

Erik interrupted, disliking the turn of Raoul's words: "Strong words, what makes _you_ believe them? How many times had you called me a monster at this opera house or anywhere in this decrepit world?"

"They're her words. And I cannot begin to make amends for what I have directly and indirectly done to you. But I would do it again for Christine's sake."

"That, monsieur, is where we can both agree. For Christine, I would do anything… I did everything… and through her rejection, death would not come soon enough." Abruptly Erik stood up, "Perhaps it would have been better had she never returned." Christine didn't have to see him to hear the emotion in his voice. "I allowed myself to be deluded once more. At dusk, you will leave. Never return to this wretched wasteland, here all that is good ends at the door." Erik began to walk off, "Leave me to wallow in my misery." His last words echoed in the dank catacombs as the remnants of footsteps died away.

Christine pulled the covers away from herself and went to her husband. "Despite what he says, we can't leave him like this, Raoul."

He turned at the sound of her voice and his face brightened. "Dearest, you're awake. Are you feeling better?"

She smiled at his concern then continued, "No creature, no man deserves this. We have to do something."

Raoul grin disappeared and he gained a pensive look. "I don't think _I_ could honestly do anything." He left out what he was thinking (though it was implied) silently begging that nothing would endanger his Christine again, least of all the psychiatric treatment of a madman.

_

* * *

No, no. Not again. _Erik darted through the dark corridors, the twisting and turning labyrinth of passageways blurred together while his mind remained leagues away; none knew these passages better than the Phantom of the Opera as his feet carried him without real direction. He'd fled from the conversation with Raoul and felt truly cowardly. _How many hours had I cursed that man for taking Christine? Before she left that final time, how much time did I dream of exacting my revenge? Of crushing him? Of making him suffer as I have? Of-of reclaiming Christine and―_

He stopped in his tracks. Erik knew he was only torturing himself. _That's why I had to leave, it's all resurfacing._ _Christine will never love me as I love her, a friend or guardian perhaps but nothing more. _He looked around, finally comprehending where his feet had taken him. Grimacing on the effect of his thoughts, he closed his eyes and covered his face, sucking in two labored breaths before wrenching the door open.

The room was dark and he fumbled with the flint, still scarcely clinging to his resolve and willing back tears. The sparks found their mark and the candle burst to life. The room flickered in the eldritch light and the dust in the air was almost suffocating yet it was otherwise as he'd last left it.

The makeshift desk was cluttered with scraps of paper, bits of wax, pen tips, wells of ink, and assorted pieces of everything, including the Phantom's infamous signet marker. Bits of metal made up other piles in the room, some fitted together in different configurations. Erik had long since abandoned this room, no longer writing notes and the urging to create new inventions suppressed by the purging of his mind and soul through his haunted thoughts and single outlet of music. He stumbled slightly, as he moved around the room lighting other candles. The chair to the desk lay on the floor where he'd thrown it down in disgust and frustration during his last visit. He righted the chair and sat down heavily.

Here was where he'd hidden that night; that night when Christine had found his love as hideous as his face and thrown it back at him; that night when she left with Raoul with all assurances that she would never return; that night he'd received his first kiss, perfect as he'd always dreamed but with a price… but that was before the weight of it all crashed around him. The hoards came soon after, he heard their thundering. Erik saw Meg Giry take the mask, grateful that he had a spare, before he retreated to this room. He didn't think he could bear to see his home destroyed and violated, so he'd hidden. Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, hid.

_What have I been reduced to? What has she done to me? What have I done to myself? How does she do it?_ Erik raked his hands through his dark hair, gripping it, and closing his eyes tightly to stop the tears that threatened to rain down again. The memories flooded through his mind, broken images each with emotions that continued to cut at his bleeding heart. There were brief moments where a look from Christine would set his spirits to a whole new level, soaring above clouds. He longed for those small glances where he could feel that someone cared for him, a foreign yet perfect sensation that warmed and soothed his soul. He forced himself away from those thoughts. _She's married, Christine will never be yours. It's best if you finally forget about her… Why can't I? God Almighty, why can't I live in peace? Must I always be tortured, watching from the shadows as everyone else finds happiness?_ He shook his head vigorously, attempting to rid his mind of all the negative sensations. Leaning further forward, Erik fell on all fours and pounded on the floor, venting all his heartache and suffering on the cold stone. The tears he'd held back broke free and the force of his emotion racked his body.

The fatigue of the exhausting night and his sorrow led him to an undisturbed sleep. Some time later ―he guessed around an hour judging by the size of the candles― he awoke and cleaned himself up, indurate and confident, to face his guests.

* * *

_You know what could **really** make my day? Yep, good guess: could you please review! **Love it or hate it, let me know what you think!**_

Much love all, take care.


	7. Reunions:Adieu

**_Ah, yes: thou knowst I own it not. A paean to Gaston Leurox and Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber. I am but a mere scribe borrowing to generate a new outlook. (Sorry, I was in a mood. I beseech thee not to kvetch.)_**

**_Everyone have the DVD yet? Stupid question, I know. :) My buddy Kayla and I got ours right after school and I blew off studying for my AP Spanish test to watch it (which _still_ seems like a good idea if you ask me)._**

**_So yeah, if anyone drags themselves away between viewings, here's an update._**

* * *

Christine glanced through the meager library, scanning for something to do. Raoul was distant, only pretending to read while meditating on how to appease his wife with minimal contact to the Phantom. He had made steps toward trust but retained his wares as far as Christine was concerned, nothing should jeopardize her or their child in any way. 

She was grateful for his attempt but felt that his phrasing could have been better. Shaking her head she opened the book as the spine creaked softly. _Cyrano de Bergerac_, she wasn't entirely surprised to find it there. It was the sad story, a man shunned by the world used his gift of words to woo the woman of his dreams through a handsome youth; in the end she fell in love with the soul of Cyrano, certain that it belonged to another. He revealed himself too late.

She skimmed through the pages and saw the dried splotches of old tears on the last few pages. She closed her eyes, feeling the rough pages with her hands, almost able to read his thoughts through the evidence on the pages. Cyrano and Erik were cast aside by society but still managed to find love yet both were denied real happiness.

_How many times has he read through these pages_? she wondered. She took a moment to analyze her own feelings; she didn't care for him the same as she did Raoul, yet there was something about him all the same that she knew could never be fully denied. She shut her eyes roughly in frustration, her heart still bleeding for the man who had meant everything to her. She pleaded silently for understanding.

Raoul either didn't notice or declined to question his beloved's grimace.

Some time later, the bricks in the south wall swung open and Erik emerged from the hidden door. His air commanded respect as always and his dark eyes held a fierce determination as he pulled a small bundle out from another hidden panel. He further collected some items from the cold box and went about setting up a meal.

Christine sought for words. "Can-can I help?"

Eric froze for a moment at the sound of her voice but soon recomposed: "There is no need. I apologize that I have nothing quite as rich as your palates are used to but I'm afraid it will have to suffice." Christine felt the sting of his remark but didn't respond.

He finished preparation in silence and set out what his depleted funds could purchase. He placed wine in front of Raoul and purified water, cleaned by an invention of his own, before Christine. Erik then took his share and began to relocate himself.

"Erik…please stay," Christine spoke up hopefully and he hesitated, debating on how to respond.

Stubbornly, he returned to his seat. "As you wish." _Why do you keep doing this? She'll be off with her perfect Vicomte in the evening, never to return; why do you keep torturing yourself?_ _Just get away. _Yet he stared where he was and schooled his face to show as much emotion as his mask, though betrayed by the turmoil in his eyes. He said nothing more, finishing his meal quickly.

Brushing breadcrumbs from his shirt, he rose and moved before Christine could object again. He stopped near the organ, caught between the need to vent his frustrations by becoming his music or simply retreating to the comfort of his solitude. _Seeing Christine with that boy is almost as painful as that night all over again. Is seeing her face worth the misery?_ Erik straightened his back and marched past the grand instrument in the direction of his room.

Christine sighed, half praying that he would play. She wanted to reach him, wanted to help him, but she could do neither whilst he hid. That afternoon was one of the longest of Christine's life, second only to the day her father lay dying or the night before _Don Juan Triumphant_'s performance. Tension was palpable in the air, the men eagerly awaiting dusk with Christine caught between dread and calm with the advancing hours. Noises from crashing objects sporadically broke the silence but the de Chagny's made no inquires other than to looked at Erik's closed door. A light supper was brought before them later, consisting of some meat of an indeterminate origin and other produce that Erik had managed to scrounge together despite his distress.

When the hum of the busy city dissipated, Erik left his room and directed the de Chagny's: "Gather your belongings. It is time." Roughly thrusting Raoul a torch, he sternly ordered him to go first. The young Vicomte looked nervous but did as he was told, lighting the path for his wife and a ghost. The only sound other than their muffled footsteps was that of Erik's voice when he commanded Raoul to turn one direction, then another. Soon, they were all back in the small chapel. Breathing a sigh of relief, Raoul made for the window and looked anxiously about, searching the street.

"All clear, no one should see us." Christine looked from her husband back to Erik, who seemed determined not to look upon her. Disappointed, she turned to leave but his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. She turned sharply, facing his dark eyes brimming with pent-up emotions.

"I―I want you to have this." He looked down on the small parcel he held in his hand and pushed it gently into hers. "Remember me well."

She recognized the box instantly. Why, it was the very same music box that had lain beside his bed, the monkey with the cymbals, smiling as ever.

"Oh, Erik." The name still seemed strange to her, but he was pleased to hear it from her lips. "I can't accept this."

She started to extend it back to him but he would have none of it. "No, Christine. It is a gift for you… and your future child." He'd argued with himself for most of the afternoon and finally decided that it was just a further admonition that she would never belong to him.

Tears began to resurface as Christine disgustingly admitted to herself that she'd been rather weepy lately. _Well, who wouldn't be in such circumstances?_ "Thank you, Erik. I can't tell you what it means to me." She reached her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. _I'm so sorry, Erik… for everything. _

Erik's resolve weakened and he made no move to stop the tears running down his unmarred cheek and under his mask. Her kiss, a confirmed dream, but to receive the sweetest ambrosia came with a price; she was leaving again, just like the last time she'd kissed him.

He turned away, "Go." Untangling her arms from around his neck, Christine moved toward the window and, taking Raoul's offered hand disappeared into the night.

Erik watched her go, the ache in his heart slicing through him to the pit of his stomach. _Adieu.

* * *

_

"I think we should return home, Christine. This trip was a mistake; you shouldn't be distressed like this." Raoul of course meant well but Christine was far from eager to leave so soon. Surely there was _something_ they could do.

They arrived back at the inn and Christine continued to clutch the music box as if it were her last connection to her Angel of Music. The couple readied to turn in for the night and Christine wound the key to the music box. The small monkey clinked along merrily; Christine fell asleep to a plethora of fitful and pleasant memories, Raoul dozed off only after he'd tired of his own worries.

The next morning, Christine woke up to find her room empty. Raoul had left a note (detailing that he was readying plans to return home as soon as possible) but another man continued to plague her thoughts.

Despite her husband's inevitable displeasure, and Erik's for that matter, she wandered toward the deteriorating opera house once more. The sun shone brilliantly and she crossed the square nodding to many as she passed. Although the air was warm, she shivered as she walked up the chipped stone steps worsened by neglect. Quickly, she walked back to her old dressing room, which looked just as she'd left it but for the dead roses that covered the floor. Cautiously, she slid the mirror aside and moved through the secret passageway behind it.

She remembered this route as surely as she knew her face in the mirror and soon she was again in the Phantom's lair. Her feet continued forward despite her screaming reason. Erik was seated again at the organ though his fingers were still and he stared at the keys dejectedly.

"What music is there to be had?" He directed his question to no one before pounding his fist on the nearby table; he didn't flinch when the hot wax from an overturned candle oozed over his hand. Christine walked forward and laid her hand on his shoulder.

He jumped slightly and then slumped again in his seat: "I thought I told you to leave. You shouldn't be here in your-your condition. Why did you come back?"

She hadn't exactly expected to explain herself, hardly able to justify her actions to herself. "I can't leave you like this, Erik."

"Why not? You've done it before." She grimaced though she knew it to be true. "I just started to rebuild the walls around my heart, Christine, and you broke down that feeble fortitude in a moment. You wish to help me?"

She nodded and spoke, "I'm sorry for everything, Erik. I'm so sorry." Christine's tears rolled down her cheeks again and she tried to embrace him but he stood and shrugged off her arms.

"You really want to help?" His eyes were a dreary mix of pain and frustration as he turned to face her. "Tell me how to stop loving you." His rich voice grew more frantic. "Make it stop. Stop the yearning for your touch. Stop the endless nights. Stop the pain that always follows." The hysterical nature of his voice drained again and took on a serious tone. "Purge my mind of the dreams, the nightmares, and the memories. Make me stop loving you. What is it about you? I just cannot do it."

He pounded his fist on the wall. "Were I to tear out the part of my soul that belongs to you… actually there would be nothing left."

Christine was taken aback by his pleas. What had happened to this pillar of strength? _What have I done?_ She reached for him again but he backed away. "Don't," was all he said, somewhere between a plea and a warning. Christine withdrew her arm slightly then reached for him again and stroked his cheek gently. He closed his eyes under her touch, taking in the intoxication of a forbidden caress. Erik's eyes flung open when she began to remove his mask but her eyes silenced his unspoken protests. She laid a hand on the mangled flesh. A moment later, with all the willpower he possessed, Erik gently pulled her hand away.

"Go, return to your husband." He turned his back on her but she merely watched him. "Perhaps it would have been better had you not returned." Christine fought the urge to stay and did as she was asked, leaving the Phantom but silently promising herself that she would visit again before Raoul swept her back to their estate.

The day passed slowly, Raoul none the wiser to her afternoon's escapade as he was preoccupied with the delay in their plans presented by the muddy roads. Christine tried to give the impression that she agreed though she secretly triumphed in the extra day. That night, another restless one, she rose from her bed and gathered her shawl. Cloaked in darkness, she made her way once more for the cold opera house.

Twisting through the now familiar pass, no sounds echoed in the blackness that had led her down on her last journey and no light flickered. Her own torch isolated in the dark was her only comfort.

She reached the end of the passage and gasped at what she saw: it was empty. No candles lit and glaring, no chaotic masses of papers and tools. No Erik.

She called his name softly and then louder when her own echoes were the only audible sounds in the empty world. She flew to his room; his clothes were gone and anything of value was missing. _Cyrano de Bergerac_ was gone as well as a few other books leaving gaps in his library. Whatever piece he had been working was gone as well, though some pieces of this and that had not made the packing. One thing was new, despite the mess: a rose, fresh and red with a black ribbon, lay on the keys of the organ.

Feeling a great dread rise in her chest, Christine picked up the rose and held it close. Erik was gone.

Christine returned numbly to her room, ignoring Raoul's demands as to her whereabouts while he embraced her. Christine refused to speak but gently pushed him away and crawled into bed. Frustrated, Raoul ran a hand through his red-blond hair conceding to let his wife rest… then he saw the rose with the black ribbon on the side table.

"You went back? Again?" Incredulous, he picked up the flower.

She turned her doleful eyes to him and nodded.

Raoul changed his tone; something was wrong. "What happened?"

"He's gone, Raoul. Erik's gone." _And_ _I never got to say goodbye._

Though perturbed by her response, Raoul stilled the rebuke on his tongue and lay down next to her, relieved that she was back by his side. He pulled her close and she reached around and put a hand on his face before falling into a dreamless sleep. Raoul sighed; the Phantom was gone and likely never to bother them again.

* * *

Erik gritted his teeth but remained steadfast. _This is the only way. I have to leave all the anguish behind, start over. _He stopped his hurried packing and placed a hand on his cheek, remembering her touch. Disgusted with himself, he angrily shoved more items into his bag. He passed by the great organ several times in his haste, each time regretting horribly that he could not take it with him. His expression, his music, he'd poured out his soul on those keys and almost thought of it as an old friend but the instrument had to be left behind. Remorsefully, he played a chord one last time and soon found himself in the overture of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Releasing his grip on the music, he gathered all his possessions and then stole a cart from the opera's old stables. 

Caesar, in his own hidden stable, nuzzled Erik gently as he bridled the great horse. He smiled grimly as he remembered how he'd stolen Caesar under the stable boys very nose. Caesar clopped behind him happily after being cooped up in the small stall for some time. After the cart was successfully attached, Erik swung up to the back of the elegant beast and led him off into the dark.

He closed his eyes one last time, freezing in his mind the memory of her touch. He almost reconsidered leaving and starting over but he forced himself onward. The rose, his last goodbye, Christine would find it, doubtless she would return. Erik smiled ruefully; he knew first hand she was not an easy person to be rid of.

He rode Caesar ragged through the night, not wishing to stop for fear the memories would catch up with him. He thought only of the road ahead. The great white horse could run no longer and the sun began to rise as he pulled into a cave for cover. After rubbing down Caesar and feeding him, Erik went towards the entrance of the cave and saw the first sunrise away from the accursed Opera Populaire in a long, long time.

* * *

**Anyone know why FFN uploads the spacings all funky? Hmmm...**

**A thousand thank you's to those who've reviewed!**

_**nightbug08**: glad you like it, thank you!_

_**Nota Lone:** Haaa. Yes much, will definitely spread some of that around. :) or maybe a few slinky's 'cause they rock my socks. Thank you for being a faithful reviewer and thanks again!_

_**caz:** aww shucks. blushes thank you!_

_**twinlady: **another faithful reviewer, thank you so much! And again for the birthday song. :) To be honest, this fic and "Playing Hooky" are actually done (unfortuantely, this one's almost over too) so I guess that's almost cheating for keeping up three at once. "Once Bitten" I'm working on now and, while I do have more over here than what's posted, I just like to look over things several times first and all so yeah...I'm holding out on people...that and I like to jump around when I write so it's fun to change it up. I don't think I've read yours yet...hmmm...Thanks again!_

_**LostSchizophrenic:** and another faithful reviewer -:hug:-. Thank you!_

**More to come! **

**Love it or hate it, please, let me know!**


	8. For the Love of a Child:Old and New

_Okay, I had every intention of updating sooner and I even uploaded this last night but my laptop was picking up a weak signal so I couldn't finish. Graduating in a few days so between those last minute "what can I cram in before the end of the semester" assignments from my teachers and all the senior activities, real life hasn't just been a little annoyance it'sbeen a brick wall. Yeah, I suppose that's not much of an excuse but hey. _

_**GREAT NEWS!** My phanfic "Playing Hooky"(which I should be able to update soon!) has been nominated for the POTO Reader's choice awards for Alternate Reality! I'm so excited!_

_Anyway... a thousand thank you's to Nota Lone (I'm fighting the man, no worries -:gring:-), LostSchizophrenic (I made you cry? awww... sorry to keep you waiting), and twinlady!(More story goodness! and I'll try to be better about updating. more erikyness ahoy!) -:hugs:- You guys rock, really. _

_Point of clarification, just in case: Philippe is the name of a servant in this story, not a brother and certainly not a vampire (if you read my other phanfic "Once Bitten"). Just so you know..._

_GAH! I only have two mintues left in my spanish class period. (Okay, I'm back in my Creative Writing class, sorry don't ask) ((okay for the third time I'm trying to get this posted and I'm in the guidance office)) Jeeze, what an adventure to post one bloodly chapter..._

_Much love all. Here's the first part of the last section: _

* * *

-For the Love of a Child-

**_―Around seven months later―_**

Christine was exhausted. Her curly chestnut hair clung to her cheeks, dampened by sweat and tears. Sighing with relief, she looked again on the face of her precious new daughter who was now sleeping soundly. Raoul burst into the room, the worry drained from his face as he adoringly looked on Christine. He kissed his wife gently, aware of her fatigue, and told her how proud of her he was and how beautiful she was over and over. Christine smiled weakly back and held out her child to her husband. Raoul took his daughter into his arms for the first time, tears welling up in his eyes. He kissed her soft forehead and rocked her lovingly, telling her how perfect she was. Christine smiled at her husband, feeling all the contentment in the world. Raoul looked back to his wife and met her smile as the tears rolled down his face.

She opened her eyes and Raoul was caught in the brilliant blue of his daughter's eyes. "I will show you everything."

"Raoul," Christine spoke up in a husky voice, "we still haven't decided on a name."

Raoul's lips curled into a grin, "How about Lotte?"

Tears brimmed again in Christine's eyes. "That's perfect, Raoul." She blinked heavily, still willing herself to stay awake.

Raoul returned her to her mother's arms. "Rest, Christine." He bent down and kissed her again. His daughter stirred in her blanket and he kissed her, too. "Pleasant dreams, my love and my little girl."

He closed the door behind him. It was still early evening so he sent for Dr. François. The midwife was still streaming off directions when trusty Philippe returned with the good doctor. He paid the woman for her services, more than the agreed price before he greeted the doctor.

"Thank you for coming. I've some wonderful news: I'm a father of a beautiful baby girl." Dr. François congratulated the Vicomte as he was ushered into the parlor. "Doctor, you've been my family's physician for years, I was hoping you would continue your services."

"Thank you for your kind patronage. I would be happy to see to the Comtesse and your daughter."

"Umm…the Comtesse is resting. I apologize. I should have waited to call for you." The doctor smiled knowingly, doubting that Raoul had done much clear thinking for the past several hours. "You're welcome to stay."

Dr. François accepted his invitation and the gentlemen chatted in the parlor over brandy and cigars. Sometime later, Christine rang for a servant and Raoul jumped up, excusing himself hastily. The good doctor shook his head once more at the young man's enthusiasm.

Raoul showed the doctor in. The maid had done as much as she could to make Christine comfortable and she smiled wearily as the men walked in. To the new mother he gave soothing balms and the child he surveyed with all the caution he would his own children. He held a candle (the room was growing dark) and checked for any possible defects. He announced to the parents that their child was indeed healthy and returned her but not before asking, "What is her name?"

Christine spoke up with the pride of a new mother, "Lotte. Her name is Lotte."

"Mademoiselle de Chagny seems in perfect health. I'll come back in a week or so to how she's doing. Don't hesitate to call me if anything comes up." He tipped his hat and Raoul escorted him to the door, effusing with gratitude. He returned to Christine's side, holding her hands in his own and kissing her. Lotte slept quietly in her crib.

"She's perfect, Christine. I can't imagine life any better than this."

**_―Some eleven weeks later―_**

The baby fat hung in rolls off of Lotte's chubby legs as she kicked and squirmed in her crib. She squealed happily and Dr. François followed her cheerful parents into the room. The doctor picked up the child, pleased to see that was gaining weight properly.

Philippe swung open the door and it smacked loudly into the wall. "Monsieur, the stables are in uproar. The horses are breaking loose!" Raoul followed immediately, looking back on his wife and daughter.

Dr. François's eyes had not left the child's face. She reacted to the sound but turned her head in the wrong direction. Playing a hunch, he walked over to the window where the bright sun blazed through. She didn't squint; she didn't even seem to notice any distinction.

Christine, concerned for her husband, briefly excused herself and asked the doctor to watch Lotte for a moment before following after Raoul. Entrusting the child's care to the maid, he followed after the couple.

— — —

_Philippe has done well._ Erik smirked as he watched the Vicomte dash out of the house toward the stables all in uproar. The precious cargo he carried in his arms made no movements as he rode toward his home as if the devil himself were on his heels… perhaps he was.

Some time ago, after Caesar had taken him miles away from the opera house and he'd neglected his health and nearly wasted away to nothing. A local man aided him and he was soon on his way after repaying the man handsomely with part of what was left of his salary. With another large moiety of his fortune, he purchased a simple house. He'd acquired fame for his mastery of music, anonymously publishing another opera and obtaining much wealth from the royalties; soon, he had enough money to purchase a new organ and fill one of the many chasms in his heart with music once more. Few people knew the composer beyond his pseudonym, one of which was the man who had saved him from an early death: Philippe. His family had been kind, nursing him back to health and never questioning his mask.

Erik was shocked to learn that this man was in the service of the de Chagny family though he carefully restrained himself; his heart had rebuilt some of its decaying walls. He cursed his luck that he had still settled so close, no matter how he tried she was always there. On one memorable afternoon, Philippe cheerfully spoke of his household's new arrival. Once the man had left, Erik broke down again. A rage consumed him and he slowly convinced Philippe to do him a favor; it was a difficult process to turn the man against his master but Erik had won out in the end. Cautiously, he crept in and took what he sought.

Caesar was swift in his gallop and soon Erik saw that the horse was rewarded properly for his haste before walking into the house.

— — —

Raoul raced through the house after he heard Christine's wrenching scream. She screamed again and he followed her voice to the nursery. She sat crumpled on the floor, holding her face in her hands. Raoul flew to her side and wrapped his comforting arms around her as sobs racked her frame.

"Dearest, what's wrong? What's wrong?"

"She's gone, Raoul! Lotte's gone!"

"What? The maid must have her or―"

"No, no Raoul. I've already asked the staff! She's been taken!"

"Christine, surely―"

She silenced him with a desperate look. "I found this in her crib." She held up a single rose with a black satin ribbon tied around the stem.

* * *

_Dun da daaaa! Suspense. _

**_Love it or hate it, let me know!_**


	9. For the Love of a Child:Forgiveness

Hey all. This is the last chapter for this one. :( Thanks for hanging in there!

And of course, a hundred thank you's to reviewers:

**Shadow Fox Forever:**_This is where. :) Thank you!_

**nightbug08:**_ Read on, find out! Thank you!_

**gavvie**:_yep, Erik just took her. It's a tangible piece of Christine and he's not thinking clearly (or at least that's my rationale, but of course, I'm not Erik (that would make me a narcissist j/k)) Thank You!_

**Viskii:** _Procrastinators unite! awww...you're so sweet. :) Thank you!_

**twinlady:**_ well... don't know how to respond to that... :) Thank you! (and for putting up with me repeatedly)_

**Nota Lone:** _Ack! I've been biffed! owie... :P and yeah, I suppose you're kinda right but agian, Erik's not always logical (or, again, that's my excuse) Thank you!_

Again, thanks to everyone who's followed this.

Alrighty, the last chapter; hope you enjoy it! (Even though I suck at endings; I just haven't had as much practice finishing things, I suppose -:sheepish grin:-)

_Anyway..._

* * *

The child slept peacefully as Erik worked his mastery over the keys of the organ. After finishing the piece, he heard the gentle cooing of the small girl and walked over to the bassinette he'd prepared for her; for the daughter of Christine, he'd spared no expense even while plotting her kidnapping. Walking over, he sang a soft tune while the clarity and magic of his voice hushed the child. She giggled sweetly and smiled as he lifted her from the blankets. Erik's cold façade melted and he felt his spirit warmed by her innocent raptures. His grin faltered. How could this small thing break past his shell? 

"Oh, you like that? You think that's funny do you? How about this?" He peeled the mask from his face. She continued giggle and laugh.

Erik was shocked. He still heard echoes of the frightened cries of children but this, the child of Christine… He stepped into a better light but the child's delighted smirk didn't shift. He spoke in a sing-song voice, "What is this? What is this? A child that laughs in the face of darkness?" He held the girl in front of him. She flailed her arms about gleefully… and landed her small palms on his face.

Erik stared at the little girl; she ran her tiny fingers across the distorted flesh and pure skin with no trepidation. Suddenly he noticed that her hands sparkled and it took him another moment to realize it was his own tears that reflected off her hands.

He released his last barrier and wept, clutching the child to his chest.

— — —

_I'll kill him, I'll kill him!_ Raoul growled and smashed his fist into the table. "I'll choke him with his own damn lasso!" Christine had not completely recovered from the shock and stared numbly at the table in front of her; her own child, her precious little girl was gone.

And taken by Erik.

Surely he would do nothing to harm Lotte, just as he'd never done anything to hurt herself. Raoul on the other hand found no such consolation…

"That creature, that abomination! Walks right in and steals her. God above, not Lotte." His anger fluctuated to despair and back to burning rage. Philippe had revealed his part in generating the disturbance moments before, throwing himself to the floor and pleading for mercy. Raoul had been icy but did otherwise punish the man, knowing the seductive powers of the Phantom, but promised that it would come later, after Lotte was found. Philippe was so frazzled that he failed to tip the Vicomte on where to start, grateful to leave with his life.

Dr. François returned to the house to find it in uproar: the help was running about wildly and he could scarcely get a discernible answer. He found the Vicomte and his wife in the nursery; Raoul holding his wife while she continued to cry silently into his shoulder, gently swaying back and forth.

"What has happened?"

Christine's head rose from Raoul's chest, her voice was choked with worry: "Lotte's gone. She was taken."

Dr. François's jaw dropped in shock. "But how? When?"

"While we were reclaiming the horses. He snuck in."

"He? You know who has done this?"

Before Raoul could begin a string of curses, Christine placed a hand on his lips. "We fear it may be Erik, better known as the Phantom of the Opera."

"But that was all a myth and―"

"I assure you, the man exists."

"Mon Dieu, it cannot be true?" She nodded but said no more. "Have you spoken with the police?"

Raoul's voice seemed lost and forlorn, "They're combing the area for her."

"I see." The doctor then recalled his reason for returning: "Monsieur, Madame, I came tonight on news that cannot wait." The de Chagny's stiffened, pleading silently for a break in the case. "I was going to tell you before the incident with the stables." Christine's countenance fell slightly but she bade him to continue. "When I was performing Lotte's check-up, something came to my attention." He paused searching for the words. "I believe that your daughter may be blind."

Christine found her voice first: "Are you sure, Monsieur?"

"I find it very likely. She doesn't turn the right direction towards a disruptive sound, she does not seem to respond to light, nor does she reach for things waved in front of her, and she doesn't even squint in the sunlight."

Christine didn't say anything but accepted the statement in silence, only nodding her head. Raoul sat down heavily. After a moment, Christine found her voice, "I wondered if something was wrong. She never looks at me, always past. I just want to hold her in my arms again." The tears flowed down her face once more and Raoul wrapped his arms around her more tightly.

"Thank you, Dr. François. I'll see you to the door."

"No, no don't trouble yourself with me. Good luck, Monsieur le Vicomte. I'm sure she will return alive and well. I'll come back tomorrow."

"Thank you again, doctor, safe journey home."

Raoul returned numbly to his wife's side. This evening was too much, too much.

— — —

Some time later―neither Raoul nor Christine slept at all―there was a faint knock at the door. Both rose and moved automatically toward the door, praying for something, anything. Raoul reached for the handle and the door creaked open ominously.

What they saw shocked them thoroughly: Erik held the child to his chest protectively, looking down on her with all the care of her biological parents. He glanced away from Lotte's sleeping form and asked in a quiet voice, "What is her name?" Tears rolled gently down his face and he sadly extended the child toward Christine.

Christine burst into tears anew, rocking back and forth and clutching her daughter close. Raoul, torn between exhilaration and the urge to strike down the infamous Phantom, settled for caressing his baby girl. Once she had regained herself, Christine turned back to Erik, her eyes simultaneously grateful and accusing.

The proud man hung his head in shame. "Truly this is the lowest act. I have become everything I have fought for years: a monster." He sighed and searched Christine's eyes with his own. "She's perfect, Christine."

Christine smiled, eyes still gleaming from tears. "Her name is Lotte."

"Lotte," he whispered. Erik lifted his arm and gently stroked the child's soft cheek. Raoul shifted uncomfortably; had this man not just stolen their daughter?

Erik turned back to Christine, "She shows no fear, Christine. She doesn't scream or cry in the face of the devil. Her hands, her tiny hands…" Erik crouched over and brought the tiny hand to the distorted flesh of his face. "She does not judge. She's both innocent and trusting. Lotte is blind." He chuckled half-heartedly. "Christine, she is an angel."

The de Chagny's hearts softened; remorse hung in Erik's words. He turned to leave, covering his face with the mask concealed in his pocket as he began to dissolve into the night. Lotte stirred and began to cry; Erik froze in his steps, turning again to face the young family. Raoul and Christine were fixed on easing their daughter's wails and Erik began to sing softly.

Lotte's tears stopped and she began to wave her arms about excitedly. Raoul looked to his wife who returned his surprised glance. The tune was light and airy as Erik's voice brought the music to swell with emotion and bliss.

The music died away and Christine finally responded in a quiet tone, "Thank you. Did you write that?"

"Yes. It's sung in the language of the gypsies, outsiders and wanderers of the world, and now it has a name, 'Lotte.'" Without truly realizing what he was doing, Erik walked toward the child one last time and gently kissed her forehead. "Goodbye." He looked up then to Christine, "Goodbye, Christine. I cannot apologize for loving you but what I did today was beyond forgiveness. I won't ask for it. To you, sir―" he turned his mournful eyes toward Raoul, "―I've caused you enough grievances as well."

He turned and started to leave. Christine's arm shot out, gripping his own. Her mind was in conflict. He had committed an unforgivable crime but she still hated to see him leave, dejected and defeated—this was not the man she knew. "Erik, the night is cold. Come inside." Raoul's eyes bulged but Christine ignored his half-formed protests. Under his wife's eyes, he restrained his frustrations but he could not restrain his mistrust.

They were sitting in the parlor; Erik sat a considerable distance from the couple on the chaise.

Raoul's voice was heavily coated with contempt: "So, Monsieur le Fan―or rather Erik," he spoke the name almost as a curse, but Erik had expected no less nor did he believe he deserved any better. "How long have you been in this part of the country?"

"I wandered aimlessly for some time, until I was found by Philippe. His family brought me out of the pit and I found myself a home. Do not curse Philippe; he was most regretful in agreeing to help in a scheme he didn't fully understand or betraying his master. The fault was all mine." Erik regained some of his regal air, a prisoner accepting his fate.

Christine could force her question down no longer. "Why did you take her?"

Erik smiled grimly, no joy in his expression. "Once, what seems another lifetime ago, I asked you why. You never could give me an answer and now I fear that I will have to return the favor."

They both understood; caught in the passion of desperation and despair everyone is prone to ignore reason.

— — —

The rest of the conversation was of little consequence, answers and questions on both sides, but something else happened: the beginning of something new. Erik spent that night a small guest room but left early in the morning, well-adjusted to lack of sleep through long, sleepless nights in the past.

He returned often and after several conversations, Raoul finally accepted the internal change presented in the Phantom. Erik was named Lotte's godfather soon after. Through her life, Erik's soul slowly picked up the pieces and reformed solid, whole, healthy, and beautiful. He taught her Braille, himself having learned after spending years in the dark, either forced into a dank cage or given a bag without eyeholes to serve as his only protection from peering eyes. But more importantly he taught Lotte all he knew of music. Christine would join their sessions sometimes, joy brimming in her soul while they all sang together, as heavenly sound encompassed the house and all in earshot stopped to listen.

Erik continued to write his music but one piece he kept just for Lotte, her lullaby. The de Chagnys soon found that Lotte's love of music was not to be contained in their house and she embarked a career of her own, despite her family's wealth and stereotypes around it.

Erik could deny his goddaughter nothing. Nor could he deny Robert when he was born; even as an infant he loved pounding on the piano, giggling delightedly on Erik's knee and never once questioning the mask his godfather wore.

Erik had found something that was always missing, someone who loved him unconditionally. The past was finally able to rest in peace. For the first time in his life, he looked forward to another day and prayed that it would not be his last.

* * *

_Well, that's the end. Again, thanks. It's been fun. :)_

_I'll still be around reading stories (always looking for new ones) and I'm currently working on "Once Bitten" which is E/C and Raoul friendly (I won't make him a rapist or an abuser or anything like that; it's just not in his character (at least in my world)) and I'm uber-excited about it; check it out! _

_And please, **Love it or hate it, let me know!** (just that little square button down there...)_

_Take Care, all. _

_-bobmcbobbob1/Larissa, 5/25/05_


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